CHAPTER V
THE DARK NIGHT
An owl hooted across the compound, and a paraquet disturbed by theoutcry uttered a shrill, indignant protest. An immense moon hungsuspended as it were in mid-heaven, making all things intense with itsradiance. It was the hour before the dawn.
Stella stood at her window, gazing forth and numbly marvelling at thesplendour. As of old, it struck her like a weird fantasy--this Indianenchantment--poignant, passionate, holding more of anguish than ofecstasy, yet deeply magnetic, deeply alluring, as a magic potion which,once tasted, must enchain the senses for ever.
The extravagance of that world of dreadful black and dazzling silver,the stillness that was yet indescribably electric, the unreality thatwas allegorically real, she felt it all as a vague accompaniment to theheartache that never left her--the scornful mockery of the goddess shehad refused to worship.
There were even times when the very atmosphere seemed to her chargedwith hostility--a terrible overwhelming antagonism that closed abouther in a narrowing ring which serpent-wise constricted her ever more andmore, from which she could never hope to escape. For--still the old ideahaunted her--she was a trespasser upon forbidden ground. Once she hadbeen cast forth. But she had dared to return, braving the flaming sword.And now--and now--it barred her in, cutting off her escape.
For she was as much a prisoner as if iron walls surrounded her. Sentencehad gone forth against her. She would not be cast forth again until shehad paid the uttermost farthing, endured the ultimate torture. Thenonly--childless and desolate and broken--would she be turned adrift inthe desert, to return no more for ever.
The ghastly glamour of the night attracted and repelled her like theswing of a mighty pendulum. She was trying to pray--that much hadBernard taught her--but her prayer only ran blind and futile through herbrain. The hour should have been sacred, but it was marred anddesecrated by the stark glare of that nightmare moon. She was worn outwith long and anxious watching, and she had almost ceased to look forcomfort, so heavy were the clouds that menaced her.
The thought of Everard was ever with her, strive as she might to driveit out. At such moments as these she yearned for him with a sick anddesperate longing--his strength, his tenderness, his understanding. He,and he alone, would have known how to comfort her now with her babydying before her eyes. He would have held her up through her darkesthours. His arm would have borne her forward however terrible the path.
She had Bernard and she had Tommy, each keen and ready in her service.She sometimes thought that but for Bernard she would have beenoverwhelmed long since. But he could not fill the void within her. Hecould not even touch the aching longing that gnawed so perpetually ather heart. That was a pain she would have to endure in silence all therest of her life. She did not think she would ever see Everard again.Though only a few miles lay between them at present he might have beenalready a world away. She was sure he would not come back to her unlessshe summoned him. The manner of his going, though he had taken no leaveof her, had been somehow final. And she could not call him back even ifshe would. He had deceived her cruelly, of set intention, and she couldnever trust him again. The memory of Ralph Dacre tainted all herthoughts of him. He had sworn he had not killed him. Perhapsnot--perhaps not! Yet was the conviction ever with her that he had senthim to his death, had intended him to die.
She had given up reasoning the matter. It was beyond her. She was toohopelessly plunged in darkness. Tommy with all his staunchness could notlift that overwhelming cloud. And Bernard? She did not know what Bernardthought save that he had once reminded her that a man should beregarded as innocent unless he could be proved guilty.
It was common talk now that Everard's Indian career was ended. It wasonly the trial at Khanmulla that had delayed the sending in of hispapers. He was as much a broken man, however hotly Tommy contested thepoint, as if he had been condemned by a court-martial. Surely, had hebeen truly innocent he would have demanded a court-martial andvindicated himself. But he had suffered his honour to go down insilence. What more damning evidence could be supplied than this?
The dumb sympathy of Peter's eyes kept the torturing thought constantlybefore her. She felt sure that Peter believed him guilty of Dacre'smurder though it was more than possible that in his heart he condonedthe offence. Perhaps he even admired him for it, she reflectedshudderingly. But his devotion to her, as always, was uppermost. Hisdog-like fidelity surrounded her with unfailing service. The _ayah_ hadgone, and he had slipped into her place as naturally as if he had alwaysoccupied it. Even now, while Stella stood at her window gazing forthinto the garish moonlight, was he softly padding to and fro in the roomadjoining hers, hushing the poor little wailing infant to sleep. Shecould trust him implicitly, she knew, even in moments of crisis. Hewould gladly work himself to death in her service. But with Mrs.Ralston gone to Bhulwana, she knew she must have further help. Thestrain was incessant, and Major Ralston insisted that she must have awoman with her.
All the ladies of the station, save herself, had gone. She knew vaguelythat some sort of disturbance was expected at Khanmulla, and that itmight spread to Kurrumpore. But her baby was too ill for travel; she hadpractically forced this truth from Major Ralston, and so she had nochoice but to remain. She knew very well at the heart of her that itwould not be for long.
No thought of personal danger troubled her. Sinister though the nightmight seem to her stretched nerves, yet no sense of individual perilpenetrated the weary bewilderment of her brain. She was tired out inmind and body, and had yielded to Peter's persuasion to take a rest. Butthe weird cry of the night-bird had drawn her to the window and theglittering splendour of the night had held her there. She turned from itat last with a long, long sigh, and lay down just as she was. She alwaysheld herself ready for a call at any time. Those strange seizures cameso suddenly and were becoming increasingly violent. It was many dayssince she had permitted herself to sleep soundly.
She lay for awhile wide-eyed, almost painfully conscious, listening toPeter's muffled movements in the other room. The baby had ceased to cry,but he was still prowling to and fro, tireless and patient, with anendurance that was almost superhuman.
She had done the same thing a little earlier till her limbs had givenway beneath her. In the daytime Bernard helped her, but she and Petershared the nights.
Her senses became at last a little blurred. The night seemed to havespread over half a lifetime--a practically endless vista of suffering.The soft footfall in the other room made her think of the Sentry at theGate, that Sentry with the flaming sword who never slept. It beat with apitiless thudding upon her brain....
Later, it grew intermittent, fitful, as if at each turn the Sentrypaused. It always went on again, or so she thought. And she was sure shewas not deeply sleeping, or that haunting cry of an owl had notpenetrated her consciousness so frequently.
Once, oddly, there came to her--perhaps it was a dream--a sound as ofvoices whispering together. She turned in her sleep and tried to listen,but her senses were fogged, benumbed. She could not at the moment dragherself free from the stupor of weariness that held her. But she wassure of Peter, quite sure that he would call her if any emergency arose.And there was no one with whom he could be whispering. So she was sureit must be a dream. Imperceptibly she sank still deeper into slumber andforgot....
It was several hours later that Tommy, returned from early parade, flunghimself impetuously down at the table opposite Bernard with a brief,"Now for it!"
Bernard was reading a letter, and Tommy's eyes fastened upon it as hiswere lifted.
"What's that? A letter from Everard?" he asked unceremoniously.
"Yes. He has written to tell me definitely that he has sent in hisresignation--and it has been accepted." Bernard's reply was whollycourteous, the boy's bluntness notwithstanding. He had a respect forTommy.
"Oh, damn!" said Tommy with fervor. "What is he going to do now?"
"He doesn't tell me that." Bernard folded the letter and put it in hispocket. "Wha
t's your news?" he inquired.
Tommy marked the action with somewhat jealous eyes. He had been aware ofEverard's intention for some time. It had been more or less inevitable.But he wished he had written to him also. There were several things hewould have liked to know.
He looked at Bernard rather blankly, ignoring his question. "What thedevil is he going to do?" he said. "Dropout?"
Bernard's candid eyes met his. "Honestly I don't know," he said."Perhaps he is just waiting for orders."
"Will he come back here?" questioned Tommy.
Bernard shook his head. "No. I'm pretty sure he won't. Now tell me yournews!"
"Oh, it's nothing!" said Tommy impatiently. "Nothing, I mean, comparedto his clearing out. The trial is over and the man is condemned. He isto be executed next week. It'll mean a shine of some sort--nothing verygreat, I am afraid."
"That all?" said Bernard, with a smile.
"No, not quite all. There was some secret information given which it issupposed was rather damaging to the Rajah, for he has taken to hisheels. No one knows where he is, or at least no one admits he does. Youknow these Oriental chaps. They can cover the scent of a rotten herring.He'll probably never turn up again. The place is too hot to hold him. Hecan finish his rotting in another corner of the Empire; and I wish NettaErmsted joy of her bargain!" ended Tommy with vindictive triumph.
"My good fellow!" protested Bernard.
Tommy uttered a reckless laugh. "You know it as well as I do. She wasdone for from the moment he taught her the opium habit. There's noescape from that, and the devil knew it. I say, what a mercy it will bewhen you can get Tessa away to England."
"And Stella too," said Bernard, turning to the subject with relief.
"You won't do that," said Tommy quickly.
"How do you know that?" Bernard's look had something of a piercingquality.
But Tommy eluded all search. "I do know. I can't tell you how. But I'mcertain--dead certain--that Stella won't go back to England with youthis spring."
"You're something of a prophet, Tommy," remarked Bernard, after anattentive pause.
"It's not my only accomplishment," rejoined Tommy modestly. "I'm severalthings besides that. I've got some brains too--just a few. Funny, isn'tit? Ah, here is Stella! Come and break your fast, old girl! What's thelatest?"
He went to meet her and drew her to the table. She smiled in her wan,rather abstracted way at Bernard whom she had seen before.
"Oh, don't get up!" she said. "I only came for a glimpse of you both. Ihad _tiffin_ in my room. Peter saw to that. Baby is very weak thismorning, and I thought perhaps, Tommy dear, when, you go back you wouldsee Major Ralston for me and ask him to come up soon." She sat down withan involuntary gesture of weariness.
"Have you slept at all?" Bernard asked her gently.
"Oh yes, thank you. I had three hours of undisturbed rest. Peter wassplendid."
"You must have another _ayah,_" Bernard said. "It isn't fit for you togo on in this way."
"No." She spoke with the docility of exhaustion. "Peter is seeing to it.He always sees to everything. He knows a woman in the bazaar who woulddo--an elderly woman--I think he said she is the grandmother of Hafizwho sells trinkets. You know Hafiz, I expect? I don't like him, but heis supposed to be respectable, and Peter is prepared to vouch for thewoman's respectability. Only she has been terribly disfigured by anaccident, burnt I think he said, and she wears a veil. I told him thatdidn't matter. Baby is too ill to notice, and he evidently wants me tohave her. He says she has been used to English children, and is a goodnurse. That is what matters chiefly, so I have told him to engage her."
"I am very glad to hear it," Bernard said.
"Yes, I think it will be a relief. Those screaming fits are soterrible." Stella checked a sharp shudder. "Peter would not recommendher if he did not personally know her to be trustworthy," she addedquietly.
"No. Peter's safe enough," said Tommy. He was bolting his meal withgreat expedition. "Is the kiddie worse, Stella?"
She looked at him with that in her tired eyes that went straight to hisheart. "He is a little worse every day," she said.
Tommy swore into his cup and asked no further.
A few moments later he got up, gave her a brief kiss, and departed.
Stella sat on with her chin in her hand, every line of her expressingthe weariness of the hopeless watcher. She looked crushed, as if aburden she could hardly support had been laid upon her.
Bernard looked at her once or twice without speaking. Finally he toorose, went round to her, knelt beside her, put his arm about her.
Her face quivered a little. "I've got--to keep strong," she said, in thetone of one who had often said the same thing in solitude.
"I know," he said. "And so you will. There's special strength given forsuch times as these. It won't fail you now."
She put her hand into his. "Thank you," she said. And then, with aneffort, "Do you know, Bernard, I tried--I really tried--to pray in thenight before I lay down. But--there was something so wicked about it--Isimply couldn't."
"One can't always," he said.
"Oh, have you found that too?" she asked.
He smiled at the question. "Of course I have. So has everybody. We'reonly children, Stella. God knows that. He doesn't expect of us more thanwe can manage. Prayer is only one of the means we have of reaching Him.It can't be used always. There are some people who haven't time forprayer even, and yet they may be very near to God. In times of stresslike yours one is often much nearer than one realizes. You will findthat out quite suddenly one of these days, find that through all yourdesert journeying, He has been guiding you, protecting you, surroundingyou with the most loving care. And--because the night was dark--younever knew it."
"The night is certainly very dark," Stella said with a tremulous smile."If it weren't for you I don't think I could ever get through."
"Oh, don't say that!" he said. "If it weren't me it would be someoneelse--or possibly a closer vision of Himself. There is alwayssomething--something to which later you will look back and say, 'Thatwas His lamp in the desert, showing the way.' Don't fret if you can'tpray! I can pray for you. You just keep on being brave and patient! Heunderstands."
Stella's fingers pressed upon his. "You are good to me, Bernard," shesaid. "I shall think of what you say--the next time I am alone in thenight."
His arm held her sustainingly. "And if you're very desolate, child, comeand call me!" he said. "I'm always at hand, always glad to serve you."
She smiled--a difficult smile. "I shall need you more--afterwards," shesaid under her breath. And then, as if words had suddenly becomeimpossible to her, she leaned against him and kissed him.
He gathered her up close, as if she had been a weary child. "God blessyou, my dear!" he said.